


Musings Of A Slumberer

by Jace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Insecurity, Longing, M/M, Sam's POV, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jace/pseuds/Jace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither of them sleeps tonight. One is forced by love, the other willing because he cares. But in the morning it makes no difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musings Of A Slumberer

**Author's Note:**

> Special Thanks to my wonderful Beta literaryoblivion who offered her help even though we barely know each other. It's basically her doing I feel confident enough with the English language to post my little something!

I know you’ll lie awake again tonight. You always do after days like this, after almost getting killed on a hunt once more, clutching the knife underneath your pillow tightly, waiting.  
Waiting for that slight shift in the atmosphere, the gust of wind against your cheek even though the windows are closed, the gentle rustling of clothes, the smell of sun and rain and eons-old books.

You never told me about the way these nights make you feel, but I’d have to be deaf and blind not to notice the restlessness numbing your limbs. So much more desperate than the one forcing you outside and into bars as soon as the sun is setting to find a pretty, nameless girl you can fuck into a mattress until the memories are blurring.  
No, the restlessness you are experiencing right now is different and so much harder to bear because you never had to deal with this kind of longing before. A longing leaving you completely powerless with nothing you could possibly do but wait and pray. You hate the waiting more than anything but you won’t pray to him.

Not because it’s the same as begging, that’s the little lie you tell yourself to avoid admitting what every fiber in your body already knows.

The truth is you can’t stand the way you need him, the way you depend on him. You can’t show him how desperately you crave his presence; you can’t pray because he would know at the first word what kind of storm is raging inside you, and you can’t have him knowing when you can’t even have yourself knowing.

So you just lie there on nights like these, holding onto the knife for dear life, waiting. You hate it, but it will be worth it. He will come tonight like he has every other night you needed him. 

Because he knows, even though you don’t want him to. He doesn’t need you to say it, doesn’t even need you to think it when a single touch is enough for him to see into your soul. The bond you share is too deep for him not to be able to see right through you.  
He has touched you a lot lately.

He will again when he appears next to your bed, after standing there completely still, taking a few silent breaths. Watching you pretend you are asleep as he always watches over you. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

He will caress your temple with two fingers only at first, brushing them along your forehead, your nose, your lips, making your breath quicken as the longing intensifies and a familiar lump is forming in your throat. His hand will cup your cheek ever so gently, and at that, your eyes will fly open.  
You’ll look at him in that special way that doesn’t require him being an angel to be able to see into your very soul, every thought, every wish out in the open. Need and want and desperation.  
You’ll want to pull him down on top of you, clutch him tightly, breathe in his scent, never let go again.

But you won’t since your fear is ever paralyzing. You fear of being rejected by him, even though he never did and never will, not tonight, not any night after.

Instead he will sit down next to you and caress your face, soothe you into relaxing slowly as he rubs little circles into your neck.

It won’t take long for his name to fall from your lips, a whisper of three letters strung together, dripping with that intense, unfamiliar longing. The silence will be broken a second time when you breathe his full name shortly after, as if to worship his very existence, your motionlessness breaking with it.

Maybe you will take his wandering hands into your own, pull them to your lips, and cover his palms and fingers with kisses, eyes closed, sighing softly, quietly while he watches you, smiling.  
Maybe you’ll grip his dirty trenchcoat with both hands, pulling him down, claim his mouth with your own if you are feeling bold, nuzzle his neck if you want to take it slow.

Either way you’ll brush your lips against his skin and savour him in every way you know, feel the warmth that’s radiating from his body, the Grace you can barely feel crackling underneath the surface, taste the salt and note of soap and mint that’s coating his fingers, lips, and neck, smell the summer rain and ancient knowledge he oozes.

You are completely awestruck every time you are allowed to touch him like this, will be again tonight when he pulls away from you and shrugs the trench coat and jacket off to slip underneath the blanket, lie next to you.

You won’t have sex tonight, not with me in the next bed, back turned to you, letting you believe I’m fast asleep. You deserve the privacy, and this is the least I can do. I don’t mind the gasps and breathy moans for they are so much better than the silence of your waiting.

You find salvation in the way he slides your shirt up and over your head, salvation in being allowed to fumble the buttons on his shirt open, salvation in the feeling of his skin against yours, his lips on your body.

He loves you. He will show you how much again tonight, even though you’re not ready to perceive what his kisses and touches really mean.

You make yourself believe he comes to distract you, to comfort you. He does, but then it’s because he has no other choice; he needs you just as much as you need him. He needs you to be happy.  
You’ll force yourself not to think about why he does these things for you as you struggle to drown in his presence, his smell and his kisses, the slide of his skin against yours, your desire for more, for being closer growing every second.

Nothing he can do will ever be enough to instill the longing burning holes into your heart as long as you can’t admit to yourself what this really is.  
But you’re not ready yet, so you’ll grip his shoulders tighter, pull him closer, kiss him harder, start to bite and suck and get frantic and desperate when it’s not enough, no matter what you do.

He’ll smile at you sadly and fulfill every single wish you manage to choke out, as well as the ones you don’t. His name will become your mantra, whispered into the dark, barely audible but vibrating through his Grace nonetheless.

He will hold you when your moans and gasps ebb away until you fall silent again. But it’s a spent, comfortable silence he’ll hold you through, combing his fingers through your hair and pressing kisses against your forehead once in awhile.

The words he’ll whisper into your ear are too quiet for me to understand, and that’s perfectly okay since they are meant for you only.  
I can only assume they are sweet nothings, loving goodbyes and promises to return as soon as he can because he will get up after this and get dressed in silence. One last kiss, and he’ll be gone, taking the smell of summer rain with him but air still buzzing with the energy his Grace has leaked into it, probably without him even noticing.

You’ll whisper his name one last time, your own loving goodbye, before you get up and disappear to the bathroom, need and longing shrunken into a tolerable intensity.

For now you’ll have waited enough, will be back to normal when we get up tomorrow morning and pretend nothing ever happened.

I won’t bring it up.

Even though I wonder if Cas is waiting, too. Waiting for you to admit there’s more to it than just the physical sensations. Waiting for you to understand what will help you. Waiting for you to allow him to help in every way he’d be able.

I wonder if it hurts. If it’s the same restlessness you have to endure every few weeks that drives him back to your side time and time again, the only difference being that his restlessness is permanent.

I wonder.


End file.
